


Step It Out!  (A Step It Out Mary Song-Fic)

by memento_morsmordre



Category: Harry Potter: Hogwarts Mystery, Hogwarts Mystery
Genre: Angst, F/M, Reader Insert, Self Insert, Song Lyrics, Suicide mention, Tragedy, Tumblr: morsmordre-imagines, suicide TW, unrequited Felix Rosier/Reader, vague historical AU, x You
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-26 18:48:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19774213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memento_morsmordre/pseuds/memento_morsmordre
Summary: Pairing: Ben Copper x Irish Dancer!Pure-blood!Fem!Reader x Felix Rosier (one-sided)You're the high-spirited daughter of a pure-blooded family who has fallen on harder times, though that's never kept you from sneaking out to have some fun dancing.  At a lively pub one fateful evening, you reunite with your former classmate and crush, Ben Copper, only to learn that he's become an Auror and will be in town for a short while on business.  Feelings are rekindled and things seem to go well for you, until a familiar pure-blooded suitor comes seeking your hand in marriage . . .(An Unconventional Song-Fic)





	Step It Out!  (A Step It Out Mary Song-Fic)

**Author's Note:**

> One of my many requested one-shots, but I decided to post this one separately because I'm quite proud of this one!
> 
> **-OG Author's Note from Tumblr-**
> 
> **Request:** “Okay can your write a Ben x mc x onesided Felix Rosier. Where it is a song fic to step it out mary by the high kings. The story is all in the song.”
> 
>  **Song:** [ Step It Out Mary by the High Kings ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YmLAxbjsNb0) (originally written by Sean McCarthy and there’s so many covers out there for you to choose from, it’s a bop and I highly recommend it if you like folksy music!)
> 
>  **Warnings:** Suicide TW, though nothing is shown ‘on-screen.’
> 
>  **A/N:** So, I wanted to stay more in-line with the song’s plot for this one rather than doing a modern twist (which there are some covers that do that, one I know of even has a happy ending!), along with working in a little bit of the song’s history at the start.  
> All in all, this is a vague historical AU fic to fall in line with the vibe of the song and add more of a forbidden love element to it (it being an AU also gives me extra wiggle room with Ben’s still in process character arc lmao)! Lyrics taken or edited from the song to be sound natural in prose are bolded. Not a conventional song fic, as such, many creative liberties were taken. ;;

The historian exited the historical society and winced as the harsh light of the afternoon sun hit her eyes. She’d been cooped up in the dim record room all day and only had made absolutely no progress in her research, since it seemed like what she was looking for had been scrubbed clean off the books.

Feeling disgruntled at the prospect of giving up, she lifted a hand to shield her vision as she trudged along the narrow, paved roads **in the village of Kilgory**. It was a beautiful day, but she decided that all she wanted was a stiff drink and headed back to the town’s pub and inn, which is where she was staying.

On her way back she passed by the local primary school. As she did so, the laugher of kids drifted through the air and her ears perked up at the sound of a rope being skipped and a familiar chant:

“ **Step it out, Mary, my fine daughter!  
Step it out, Mary, if you can!  
Step it out, Mary, my fine daughter!  
Show your legs to the countryman!**”

The historian paused to observe the group of eight children, all looking around the age of seven. The girl skipping rope came to a stop once the chant was over—cocking her left leg as high as she could, she tottered as she waited for the next player in-line to take her place. The taller girl standing at the front of the line giggled as she took her sweet time switching places, but the first skipper didn’t fall.

And the chant began anew.

None of them paid any mind to the mousy looking Historian as she watched them for a few minutes, lost in her own head as she listened to the mysterious chant and wondered about its origins.

As with many things, she believed it to have originated from a historical precedent. However, there seemed to be nothing at all to be found on the subject.

Who was ‘Mary’ (was her name even Mary?) and why had only four lines been written about her? They were the questions that kept her up at night.

With a sigh of defeat, she shook her head and resumed her journey back to the inn. She pushed the dark, heavy wooden door, imagination running rampant as she imagined what ‘Mary’ was like and what her story had been …

* * *

The fiddle sang to the upbeat rhythm of the drum, accompanied by the guitar and flute. Feet stomped in time against the polished wood floors, fists and glasses, and couples danced. 

Every other week, the pub had an event with live music and dance, along with specials for the drinks. And you never missed a single one, even if you had to sneak out to make it to them.

You grinned as you hiked up the skirt of your robes—keeping the rest of your upper body rigid—and let your hard dance shoes begin to _clack_ satisfactorily with each piece of intricate footwork. Sweat perspired on your brow as you allowed the music to carry you away.

The majority of the eyes of the seated patrons were on you as you danced your heart out. You only beamed out at the Wizarding villagers of the sleepy lake-side town, relishing in the attention and admiration of your craft. You were known and adored in the village for it and had your fair share of admirers (and detractors, since showing your legs was apparently too ‘ _scandalous_ ’), but you paid none of them any mind.

As your eyes slid around the wood paneled room, you noticed the figure of a stranger hunched over a table in one of the far corners of the room. His back was turned away from you, but he looked _awfully_ like an older version someone you had once been close with during your school years. He had carefully groomed honey-blonde hair and was dressed in Muggle clothing that reminded you of him.

Your improvised steps slowed and you fumbled, smile faltering as the memories came rushing back to you. _Surely, it couldn’t be him_ , you thought. _Why would he be in Kilgory?_

You recovered after your initial shock and danced until the song was over, though your was heart no longer entirely in it. As soon as the last note was played, you headed over to the corner. You _needed_ to know.

The closer you got, the more certain you were that it was, indeed, him. You stopped just a couple of feet behind his chair and cleared your throat, “Ben?”

The chair creaked as Ben Copper swiveled around to face you, warm brown eyes wide with recognition and surprise as he looked up at you. You could only stare at each other, the music resumed, but it sounded faint as the tension of the room became stifling. Words and apologies unsaid hung in the air, so thick that you could slice it with a knife.

Finally, he breathed out your name. “It’s been so long …”

“It has. I haven’t seen you since we left Hogwarts. I’m sorry about everything, you know, though I never really got a chance to say it. I understand if you’ve been ignoring me—”

“—No, it’s not that,” he said, firmly. “I’ve just been busy with work and, um, finding myself again, is all.” There was a brief pause as he slipped his hand back to rub the back of his neck, reminding you of the timid Gryffindor you had met during your first days at Hogwarts. “And if anyone should apologize, it should be me. Again. I know I treated you unfairly and I still regret it deeply, though I’ve done nothing to make it up for you.”

You waved a hand dismissively as you took the seat next to him, flashing him a winning smile as you did so. “It’s all water under the bridge now.”

The other occupants let out a cheer, but neither of you looked away from the other—as if you were scared that doing so would undo the newly relaxed tension.

“But how have you been?” he asked.

You shrugged. “My father’s been trying to find a wealthy, ‘ _worthy_ ’ suitor, since our family’s fallen on hard times—it’s just my father and I, now, to start with. But I don’t believe any man in their right mind would offer to take my hand in holy matrimony. I’m ‘ _Cursed_ ’ and all, which when combined with my unconventional proclivities, I’m too much of a handful,” you finished with a grin, which was more bravado than genuine.

He laughed and the sound made your heart swell with joy. “As … lively as you can be, I quite doubt that. Some lucky bloke will walk on in and snatch you right on up.”

There was lingering stare between the two of you as dormant, unspoken feelings stirred.

You cleared your throat and shifted awkwardly in your chair, idly tapping your dance shoes on the floor. “So, what brings an Englishman like you all the way to Kilgory?”

“Work,” he said, simply. “I’m here on an investigative mission.”

“A mission?”

His eyes crinkled slightly in amusement. “Yes, a mission. I’m an Auror, now.”

You gawked at him. “You’re an _Auror?_ Since when?!”

“Since shortly after graduation. Tonks, Talbott, and I all went through training together, actually.”

The names of some of your former friends sunk your heart, you had lost touch with just about everyone over the years—isolated thoroughly by your father’s machinations. However, you were more distracted by the fact that Ben, the boy who had been terrified of his own shadow when you first met him, had joined one of the most dangerous professions imaginable.

“That’s an awfully dangerous job to have. Do you actually like the work?”

He nodded. “I do, I enjoy being able to help keep others safe. I may not be invincible, but I’m not half-bad at it. Who knew that being skilled at Charms and covering your tracks could come so in handy?”

You couldn’t help but smile once again at hearing the genuine joy in his voice when talking about his work. Right as you opened your mouth to say something else, the small quartet began to play a new song. One you recognized by the first few notes, alone.

“Ooh! Come on, let’s go dance, Ben. This is my favorite song!” you said, hopping back up onto your feet and offered a hand out to him.

He blinked a few times. “But I—”

“Can’t dance? Nonsense! Everybody can dance, nobody cares how well you can do it. Besides, you danced just fine at the ball, if I’m remembering correctly.”

He narrowed his eyes at you skeptically, though you thought you noticed his face redden under the candlelight. “Are you using—”

“Legilimency on you? ‘Course not! I just know you that well, even after all these years.”

Before he could try and protest in some other fashion, you grabbed his nearest arm and playfully pulled on it while giving him your best puppy dog eyes. “Please? It’ll be just like old times.”

He sighed, but stood up with a small smile on his face. “Blimey … How could I refuse when you put it like that?”

You stood taller, basking in your victory, as you promptly dragged him to the makeshift dance floor (which was really just a space cleared of its usual tables). And so, the two of you danced, making up your own moves as you went and enjoying the close proximity in the crowded pub.

It was similar to how it was all those years ago, but different. The naïveté and youthful glee of the past were now replaced by a sense of something more mature and of a greater, unknown depth. It was just as magical, to be sure, but it felt like something so much more significant.

Finally, the last song of the night was played and the two of you found yourselves thoroughly worn out, but satisfied. You could only smile at him, glad to see that he seemed to have enjoyed himself just as much as you had. 

“Would you like someone to walk you home?” he asked, offering you his elbow. “You still live in the same place, correct?” 

Your face flushed with a slight warmth as you nodded. “I’d like that very much and, yes, I do.”

You linked your elbow with his and exited the pub, taking an entirely unnecessary walking route home in order to spend more time together with him—enjoying the balmy breeze of late spring under the soft moonlight. The two of you walked in silence, simply enjoying the other’s company and the pleasant weather.

It wasn’t until you were about halfway home that you let out a light cough. “So, how long are you going to be staying here for?”

“Probably for a couple more weeks.”

“Oh,” you said, simultaneously surprised that he would be there for so long and disappointed that he wouldn’t be staying longer.

“But that doesn’t mean that I can’t stop by to visit you on my days off. Though I’m afraid they’re quite sporadic.”

“If that’s the case, then, um, we should probably find a way to communicate outside of using owls.”

He glanced over at you, darker brows drawn together with a look of worry. “Why?”

“It’s—complicated and I’d rather not get into it now,” you said before smiling up at him. “But I trust that my Charms expert could devise a brilliant way to keep in contact?”

He puffed his chest out slightly from your praise. “Most certainly! I actually know of just the thing. We didn’t learn about it in Charms class, but it’s known as the Protean charm and it can come in handy …”

You hung onto each of his words as he explained what the Protean charm was and regaled you with the time when it had saved his life on a recent mission. Unfortunately, shortly after he had finished, you found your family’s home looming in the immediate distance.

“Well, here’s where we part,” you said, coming to a halt outside the black iron gate. “Thank you for walking me home, Ben. And for the positively _charming_ evening.”

Your old friend shook his head at your pun, but it didn’t stop him from grinning. “Of course. Have a good night.”

“And you, as well.”

You leaned over and pressed a kiss to Ben’s cheek, allowing it to linger there for a moment longer than absolutely necessary before pulling away. He looked at you with eyes softened by longing and his faintly freckled face was flushed a brilliant shade of red that spread to the tips of his ears.

Without another word, you Disapparated away from his side with a soft pop and Apparated in your room, upstairs. You peered out the window and watched him walk back to the inn, until he was nothing but a tiny speck in the dark distance.

Only then, did you flop down on your bed, unable to wipe the smile off your face following your reunion with your most beloved friend.

* * *

**The horseman came flying down to your father’s gates on a pitch black Abraxan, he came at the stroke of eight** that Wednesday morning. You glowered from your window at the familiar young man as he elegantly slid off of his steed and adjusted his smart robes of black velvet. Felix Rosier strode past the gate and led the flying horse into the autumnal leaf covered yard, leaving it there, before rapping on the door.

This was bad. You were able to scare off suitors who didn’t know you with ease, but Felix had been a prefect during your first few years at Hogwarts. He knew enough and he was always polite and kind to you, even in spite of your less than sterling reputation.

Your fingers clutched at the silver ring on a chain around your neck, knuckles turning white as you tried to figure out a way to scare him off. You couldn’t marry him, for you were promised to another—to the love of your life.

The sound of your father’s voice drifted up. You pressed your ear to the door, ignoring the roughness of the peeling paint as you eavesdropped on their conversation.

“— **come to court your daughter** , sir.”

“Aye, I see that much. What’ve you got to offer me for her hand? If I like what ya have to say, ya can marry her on Sunday.”

"Well, you’ll find that **I have gold and silver,** asthe Rosier family is very well-off, so I can do more than simply provide for her. **I can buy her silks, satins, and a gold ring for her hand.** Additionally, **she’ll have the run of my family’s estate with servants to** tend to her every need. Although, I’d prefer it if she were—”

You tilted your chin up, doing your best to imitate the airs of what a pure-blood should be, as you strolled on out. Your father’s face began to redden with anger.

“What’ve I told ya, girl?”

“Well, I do believe this business concerns me. As such, I have a right to be here, too.”

The old man’s eyes flashed from your open defiance and he opened his mouth, poised to tear into you before the other man spoke up.

“I agree,” said Felix, who gave you a kind-natured smile. “If she is to be my wife, then I would like her to be present for today’s talks. I was about to ask that she join us, in fact.”

His response took some of the wind out of your sails, he was nice and it made you feel guilty for acting how you needed to. This couldn’t happen.

Your father deflated and grumbled under his breath. “Aye, aye, very well then. Sit down.”

Both of the men sat down, but you didn’t. Instead, you crossed your arms over your chest as you glared at the affluent young man seeking your hand in marriage. It was time to pull out your ace card, wanting to shut this down before your father got too many ideas.

“Well, **I, for one, don’t want your gold and silver and I don’t want your house** or servants.” You then glared daggers at your father as you pulled out the silver ring on the chain from where it had been tucked into your robes. “And **I’m in love with an Auror.** As a matter of fact, **I’ve already promised him my hand** in marriage, so it’s no longer yours to give **.** ”

“Auror?” Felix looked lost, not entirely following what was going on, but before he could say anything your father bolted onto his feet—face now scarlet red with rage. 

“Is it that damned li’l _Mudblood_ that’s been lurkin’ ‘round town?!”

“The very same one.”

He stepped closer to you and lowered his face directly in front of yours before **your father spoke up sharply,** ” **You _will_ do as I say, girl. You’ll get married this Sunday an’ you’ll wear that weddin’ ring** **.** “

 _He was sold on the arranged marriage awfully quickly. He was probably just going to stage some ‘talks’ for the pageantry of it,_ you thought with a twinge of disgust.

“You don’t own me,” you said, though you knew that he pretty much did. “Besides, Felix probably won’t want to marry me, knowing that I’m already betrothed to another man, of whom I love very much.”

Felix cleared his throat, clearly feeling awkward to be caught in the middle of such a spat. “I do, actually.”

Your blood went cold as you and your father both looked at him in surprise. This was not how things were supposed to go, but you had a feeling that Felix was going to be tricky.

“You do?” you croaked out.

“I do, yes.”

“Well, then, this calls for a celebration!” your father said as he sat back down with a flourish. He turned his gaze onto you, “Dance!”

Rosier’s brows drew together as he looked at your father, still not entirely understanding what was going on.

“N-Now?” you asked, suddenly feeling just as confused as the former prefect looked.

“Wait, you dance?” Felix asked, dark brown eyes lighting up from learning this new tidbit about you. “I didn’t know you danced …”

“To be fair, you don’t—”

“— _Accio_ dancing shoes,” said your father, cutting you off before you could say something insolent again and jeopardizing the match, and the special shoes came zooming down from your room. “Yes, she’s quite the li’l dancer, as you’ll see.”

He threw your shoes to you, which you were able to catch. “Put ‘em on and show ‘im.”

“What?” you asked again, dumbly.

Felix tried to speak up before your father could respond, “Oh no, it’s quite unnecessary, if she doesn’t want to. I’ll take your word for it—”

“—Dance for ‘im, girl!”

“But there’s no music to dance to!”

That gave your father pause and for a moment, you thought that you had won. But a cruel grin broke across your father’s face as he began to stomp his feet against the ground. “ _Accio_ mandolin!”

The instrument soared through the room and into his hand, he tucked his wand back into his pocket, before beginning to strum the instrument and sing:

“ **So, step it out! Marry my fine daughter!  
Step it out! Marry if you can!  
Step it out! Marry my fine daughter!  
Show your legs to the countryman!**”

You gawked at your father, blood draining from your face as he looked between you and Felix, ordering you to dance and him to marry you.

“ **Show your legs to the countryman!** ” he repeated when you did not dance, a dangerous edge to his voice.

And so you hastily threw on your shoes before getting up and hiking your robes up in preparation to dance. Then he continued:

“ **Step it out! Marry my fine daughter!  
Step it out! Marry if you can!  
Step it out! Marry my fine daughter!  
Sunday is your wedding day!**”

Your shoes _clicked_ against the dull floor with a vengeance, jaw clenched tightly, as you forced yourself to dance a joyless dance.

Felix watched you with a gaze that was equal parts pity and admiration. Once you had finished

“Might I have a word with her, in private?”

Your father shrugged as he set his mandolin down. “If yer willin’ to marry her, don’t see why not.”

And with that he got up and left the two of you in private. Felix folded his hands into his lap

“Why?” you asked as soon as your father was out of earshot.

“Why, what?”

“Why marry me, when you know that I love another?”

“I need a wife to continue the Rosier line and, well, I must admit that I’ve always thought highly of you. Perhaps we won’t love each other right away, but that may change. And if not, well, I travel regularly in order to study dragons in their natural habitats for my line of work—you’ll have free reign of the estate. You’ll be able to live in comfort and I intend to treat you well.”

“I don’t think you understand. I don’t want a _cage_ , Felix. No matter how comfortable it may be.”

He smiled at you, it was a patient smile filled with empathy. “Neither do I, but there are certain … expectations of us that have passed down from generation to generation. It is our duty to uphold them, lest we risk the wrath and rejection of our families. I understand that you love a Muggle-born, but this—it’ll be for the best.” He quickly added on, “Besides, you will be as free as you wish to be, that much I can assure you.”

You could understand where he was coming from, yes, but it didn’t change the fact that you didn’t have the freedom to marry who you want. And you couldn’t stand the thought of being wed to anyone else, it felt perverse.

Without saying another word to him, you got up and retreated back up to your room—needing to think over what you could do and design some plans to run away with your love.

* * *

The clouds glowed a harsh red in the fall sunset, as you sat next to Ben under the large willow tree that stood adjacent to **the deep stream flowing by**. He draped an arm around you and held you close on that Friday evening, trying to provide you with some semblance of comfort.

“I want to marry _you_. Not—Not him, not anyone else. Even though I suppose he’s nice enough, I’d still honestly rather die.”

Ben was silent as he rubbed a circle against your upper arm, lost in thought.

“This isn’t fair.”

“Nothing in your life’s been fair, my dear,” he said softly.

“But to live in a—a gilded cage while my husband is off studying dragons, leaving me to myself?! That’s no life to live, not when I’ll be away from you. And we don’t have the money to move far away and start anew, since if we depend on friends or family, my father will probably track us down and send me packing back to my husband … And do something even worse to you.”

“… Well, you don’t have to.”

You pulled away from him and gazed at him with confusion. “Don’t have to what?”

His unoccupied hand moved up to stroke the side of your face, voice soft and innocent in spite of their meaning. “Live a life like that. You said it yourself that you’d rather die.”

Your eyes widened as you understood just what he was insinuating and a frigid knot of dread twisted itself in your stomach. You were quick to pry his hands off of you and squeeze them in-between your own.

“It was a—a matter of speech! I want to live and I want to live _with_ _you._ ”

“And how do you plan on having us do that?” he asked, voice sounding broken as he pressed on. “I’m a—a ‘Mudblood,’ it was hard enough for me to get a job in the Ministry. There’s no way I can provide for the both of us if we run away and the other choice is for you to be wed. Unless we choose to be together in death.”

“There has to be a way!” you said, tears welling up in your own eyes.

He only shook his head and you dropped his hands, as if they were painful to the touch. Yet you knew he was right, though you did not want to accept that insidious logic.

Your love gave you a minute to calm down before he lifted his hands up and tenderly wiped your tears away. “I can make sure that it’s painless using some magic I know. Do you remember the promise I made to you all those years ago? That I wouldn’t let anything hurt you again?”

You nodded.

“I know I’ve failed over and over again on that count and this—this is the only way I know how to keep it and do so permanently.”

You said nothing.

“We can even leave down this stream—our stream, if you’d like. It’ll be peaceful and quick, okay? Liking falling asleep …”

The yellow leaves of the willow tree rustled in the fall wind, and in it you thought you heard a coarse and inhuman voice whisper in your ear, “ ** _Sunday is your wedding day._** ”

Whether it was your imagination or not, a strange sense of comfort fell over you as it helped you accept the final option as your choice. But you didn’t trust yourself to speak, scared that you saying it aloud would ruin your temporary peace with it—with _Death_.

As such, you only nodded before leaning up and pressing your lips to his in a desperate, needy kiss. He returned it without hesitation, quickly deepening the kiss as he held you so tightly that it seemed like his life depended on it.

Hot tears streamed down your face, though you weren’t sure if they were his or yours.

* * *

You were preparing for ‘bed’ late Saturday night when there was a light knocking on your door. It wasn’t your father (he didn’t knock) and there was only one other person staying in your home. You had been pointedly ignoring him during the short lead up to your marriage, keeping yourself locked up in your room aside from the time you went to visit Ben. 

And you were glad for it, since it would be less painful this way. However, it would feel wrong to not at least say goodbye.

You threw a robe over your white gown and cracked open the door, “Isn’t it bad luck to visit your bride the night before the wedding?”

He smiled. “I’m not a superstitious man, but even if I was, I believe that is just in regard to seeing the bride in her wedding dress.”

“Ah,” you said, guilt mounting as you tugged your robe.

An awkward silence hung in the air as you waited for him to get on with what.

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you.”

“Go on,” you said, feeling jittery to get this over with so you could leave him and this guilt behind.

He seemed to pick up on your agitation. “Right, my apologies, I know it’s quite late, especially given how early we have to be up tomorrow … I’ll be curt.”

You said nothing this time and only nodded, waiting expectantly for him to spit out whatever it was he needed to.

“The truth of the matter is that—that I chose to marry you because I’ve always admired you, albeit from afar. I believe that you’ll make for an excellent wife and I truly do hope that I’ll be able to make you happy—even if I’m not Copper.”

"Oh,” was all you could say, guilt rapidly consuming your mind.

“That’s all,” his lips stretched into a quivering smile before he turned on his heel in order to take his leave.

“Thank you,” you blurted out right as he began to walk away. He paused. “And I’m sorry.”

He looked over his shoulder at you with knitted brows. “For what, exactly?”

“For everything.”

“Oh, don’t be. I know that this must be quite stressful for you.” He smiled and gave you a final nod. “Good night and sleep well.”

“Good night and don’t worry … I will.” You shut the door with a wince and rested your forehead against the cool wood, taking a moment to just breathe and calm your emotions.

When you felt more collected you pushed off from the door and promptly discarded the robe. You finished changing into your wedding dress and slipped the silver band on your left ring finger with trembling hands. 

Once you were ready (or as ready as you were ever going to be), you used your wand to warm up the metal of your ring just enough in order to signal Ben that it was time. You then Disapparated from your room to attend your late night wedding and soon step on out and away from your guilt and life, both.

* * *

**On her wedding day at midnight, she drowned with her Auror boy.**

A search party was sent out after the bride-to-be vanished before morning. Their bodies were found on an embankment near the lake, entwined in each other’s embrace—both with matching wedding bands. No matter what was tried, their bodies could not be separated, seemingly bound together by a piece of magic that no one had ever seen before.

The couple was buried in unconsecrated ground in an unmarked grave to be forgotten about: their punishment for committing the blackest of sins in order to forge their union through Death’s indiscriminate blessing.

Following the news, **in the house there was the music** of a mandolin, **Felix could hear her father shout** as he climbed onto the back of his mighty Abraxan:

” **Step it out! Marry my fine daughter!  
Sunday is your wedding day!  
Sunday is your wedding day!  
Sunday is your wedding day!**“

Felix took off, feeling hollow and responsible for driving the woman he had admired to her early grave. It was a guilt that would haunt him for the rest of his days.

It wasn’t until late in the morning that the shouting and wailing abruptly stopped. And only a few days later that his body was found, swinging lifelessly from one of the rafters in the living room.

Some say that—if you listen closely at midnight—you can still hear his ghost sing his barely intelligible song in a pained, gurgling wail. 


End file.
